


Satiate

by AwkwardFortuna



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Eating Disorders, Gore, Gothic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Vampires, Vampirism is an affliction, animal violence but not rlly, dark themes, the dogs are gonna be okay guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-01-29 23:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21418627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardFortuna/pseuds/AwkwardFortuna
Summary: "Tell me about the first dog you ever had," Hannibal asks one afternoon, all the while sipping from a wine glass filled with blood. It is a deep, dark, cherry red and it stains the sides of the glass each time Hannibal brings it up to his lips in order to drink.There is an ache deep inside of Will’s gut. A nausea forming knot of consternation grows inside of him with each and every sip that Lecter takes.'I'm not hungry,' Will thinks, repeating it in his head like a mantra.Or,Will Graham is attacked and bitten by a vampire.He doesn't take it well.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 155





	1. Chapter 1

The fingers that find their way against Will’s lips, and ultimately into his mouth, are warm, thick, and tied to the strong and meaty palm of Jack Crawford. Jack keeps Will's bottom jaw suspended from the top by digging his thumbs into the soft flesh of the inside of Will's cheeks.

Will is flushed, his hair sticks to sweat-dampened skin and his eyes keep focusing in and out. He’s suddenly not sure how long it’s been since the last time he has seen Jack Crawford in his home. In fact, this might even be the first time. Which begs the question; What the hell is Jack Crawford doing in his house and holding his mouth open in a vice grip?

Somewhere, in the back of Will’s mind is the feeling of fear, but it's just so damn far away, trickling into the forefront of his mind slow like molasses, oozing in at a snail's pace. Jack says something to someone just out of Will's field of vision, and suddenly his fear runs _hot._

Before he can pull away from Jack and survey the area, Jack pulls his face up and stares him down.

“What did you do, Will?” Jack demands, grip tightening to the point of bruising.

Will couldn’t respond even if he wanted to, even if he knew how the hell to answer Jack with his fingers poking and prodding their way into his mouth and onto his tongue, before settling behind his lips and tugging them down, up, this way and that.

_“Hmmph?”_ Will asks, bringing his hands up to grab at Jack’s wrists.

Jack ignores his protests and begins to dig his thumbs into Will's upper gum-line, ultimately slicing away at the fine membrane with the blunt edge of his fingernails. Digging and digging, Jack embeds his nails into Will's gums until finally, something _pops._

Will gasps at the pain, eyes tearing up from the hurt.

Suddenly, Jack pulls away from him and Will loses his focus again. The world blurs into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes and suddenly Will finds himself outside. His hands are bound behind his back and he is being led away from his home, towards a group of what Will assumes, are paramedics. Medical personnel dressed oddly in colors that he does not recognize. An emergency vehicle is parked on the driveway of his property, projecting white and red lights.

Looking back over his shoulder, Will sees that the front door of his home is hanging off of its hinges, the porch light flickers sporadically, casting shadows and silhouettes against the exterior.

There is blood on his front porch. There is blood on the ground. Looking down at his chest, Will can see that there is blood on his clothes.

* * *

At the hospital, Will is greeted with a parade of questions being thrown at him.

_ How long have you been feeling like this? _ _What happened? _ _What is the last thing you remember?_

They ask him as though he is purposefully keeping the answers to himself.

‘_We just want you to get better’_ they tell him as if Will doesn’t want the same thing.

As if Will _likes_ being interrogated and kept hostage in a hospital overnight. 

It is not until he has been sufficiently poked and prodded for hours on end does he finally start to get the answers to his own questions. Where am I? _Baltimore State Hospital. _What am I doing here? _You were admitted just last night by Alana Bloom and Jack Crawf_ord. What happened?_...._

The latter of his questioning is often met with silence.

* * *

They don't tell him what's wrong with him. Not officially. But Will's smart enough to recognize an elephant in the room when he sees one. The nurses all tip-toe around him as if they're _scared. _The locks on the hospital room door are on the _outside_ as opposed to inside, and the windows of his room are almost _always_ covered in blackout curtains.

Will hasn't heard a peep from Alana or Jack in over three days now...Three days and counting. In the span of those three days, he hasn't had a bite to eat or drink. The only fluids he's been getting lately, come from an I.V drip attached to his bed.

The liquid that runs through it is a dark ruby color...Will tries not to dwell on what that means but rationally, he knows that his symptoms are all only adding up to one thing.

* * *

_ "Vampirism is a disease that's best cared for with careful planning and-" _ Will resists the urge to tear the pamphlet he has been given into pieces. Instead, he lets it fall out of his hands and softly onto his lap. Alana is sitting at the foot of his hospital bed with a series of pamphlets in hand. She is staring at Will with open concern, a crease forming in the middle of her brow.

It's been two weeks since they'd last seen each other. Two weeks since Alana had come to his house and found him shaking, covered in blood and <strike>feasting on</strike>-...Two weeks since the doctors all say that he can have visitors.

"I hear that you've been having nightmares," she says softly, flipping through another pamphlet on Vampirism. "Do you remember what they're about?"  
  
"No," Will snaps, his tone coming out harsher than he had intended.

“It’s not unheard of for one to feel a sort of connection with their sires, through dreams,” Alana says to him, her hand resting just inches away from his.

“I don't see how I could form a connection with them, seeing as I don’t know who they or where they are,” Will spits out.

"And like I said earlier, I don't remember my dreams."

It's a lie. Well, partially. What Will does remember of his dreams make no sense to him. He doubts that they'll make sense to anyone else, either. Alana sighs and moves her hand over to rest on top of his.

“You’re getting colder,” she says, flinching and looking anywhere but him.

"Comes with the territory of yunno', being dead and all." Will gripes.

It's unfair. He's being unfair to her and he _knows_ it but he can't _stop it._ He thought he'd be happy to see Alana today but instead, he just keeps growing more and more agitated by the minute.

“I’ve set up an appointment with a therapist for you.” She says, eyes fixed on the black-out curtains covering the windows.

“I thought you said that wasn’t a good idea?”

“It’s not with me, I’ve set you up with a colleague of mine, a friend. He specializes in...cases like yours.”

“I’m not interested” .

Alana gives him a sharp look and takes his hand again despite the cold, “I’m worried about you, Jack’s worried about you”.

“Jack hasn’t even called me.”

“That's because Jack feels guilty”

“Yeah well, he shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t either. It’s none of your faults. None of you even knew I had disappeared. No one could've guessed what would happen”.

“We should have checked up on you sooner, after the Madchen case”

“I’m a grown man Alana, I don't need a _mommy and daddy_ to take care of me. I can take care of myself”.

“Can you?” She asks, finally looking him in the eyes.

“Because the way I see it, Will, you got lucky._ Real lucky._ You could've been murdered. You could've been eaten. You could’ve come across_ someone_ on your way back home and hurt them”.

“Not likely. It's private property so I doubt-”

“You could've harmed _me_, Will. You could've harmed _Jack. _Jesus Christ, you hurt your-” she cuts herself off and falls into a sudden silence. Alana lets Will's hand drop from her grasp.

There's not much that he remembers from the night Alana found him. Will’s mind is like a notebook filled with blank pages and the occasional snippets of information here or there. He can see snapshots of his pack, his _family _lying torn to shreds in the middle of his ransacked living room. He can see bits and pieces of their _bits and pieces _strewn across his living room floor.

Worst of all, he can see himself lying gorged and satiated in a puddle of blood, surrounded by their broken little bodies.

_Did they try to run and hide? Did they fight him?_

These are the questions that keep Will up at night.

“Alright," he relents. “I’ll show up to the goddamned appointment”.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal Lecter is perhaps the first vampire Will has ever encountered face-to-face. Sure, he's read about them, profiled and studied them when the occasional case file required it. But now, seeing one in person is a whole other level of discomfort. It makes Will feel unsettled to see the way that Hannibal Lecter holds himself _so_ still. Just shy of supernaturally still. The man's chest is seemingly never rising or falling with breath, and Will has yet to see him blink once. If his skin could still goose pimple from unease, it would.

Will supposes it's obvious now, that Alana would send him to see a _vampire psychiatrist_, yet somehow Will hadn't expected it. He feels a little betrayed, for not at least being given a warning beforehand.

“Care for a drink, Will?” Hannibal asks, his voice interrupting the whirling thoughts of Will's head.

He's standing above Lecter, preferring to be in the comfort of the man's loft and his extensive collection of books, as opposed to being downstairs and on equal footing with him.

"What kind of drink?" Will asks, peering over the bannister's ledge.

Hannibal holds up what looks like a regular wine bottle. Though the contents are hidden behind the bottle's darkly colored glass, Will can recognize the label.

“Blood, Dr. Lecter? Really?” Will scoffs, a frown making its way across his face.

Hannibal shrugs and begins pouring the contents of the bottle into a wine glass.

“Does vampirism make you uncomfortable, Will?”

“No, it’s just an affliction.”

“Does watching one_ act _ on their affliction cause you discomfort?”

Will glares down at him, “No. But you’re drinking blood out of a wine glass for Christ's sake. As if it were some kind of delicacy.”

"Is it not?" Hannibal asks, bringing the glass up to eye-level as if to inspect it.

"So much work goes into producing a single cup's worth of blood. Many people must come together and donate in order to fill a single bottle. All for the sake of vampires with an _affliction."_

Hannibal brings the glass up to his lips and Will turns to look away.

"Can we at least agree on the fact that blood-drinking is a collaborative effort? A unity between vampires and non-vampires? It helps people..."  
  
"Sure, whatever," Will grumbles.

“Why then, do you starve yourself?”

Will snaps his gaze back to Hannibal. “I’m not_ starving_ myself. Did Alana tell you that?”

“Jack, actually.”

“Funny," Will scoffs. "Jack should be the_ last_ person to think that, considering the last time he saw me I was covered in it.”

“Sounds like quite the traumatic experience to have.”

_‘Yes,"_ Will hisses, "it was_.’_

This is all that Hannibal manages to get from him for the rest of their evening.

* * *

Alana calls Will three times on his way back home from Lecter's. He lets it go to voicemail on the first two rings and finally turns his phone off by the third.

Since that fateful night at his house, he has been unable to step inside of it. Jack and Alana had sent a crew to clean it up for him, all traces of what was there that night has since vanished.

From the safety of his car in the driveway, Will supposes that his house looks _serene _but it's tainted now. No longer is it a lighthouse in the middle of a roaring sea for him. Cabin-like, picturesque, and cozy. Part of him wishes that the bloodstains and the broken glass had stayed. Maybe then he'd be able to sleep at night. Maybe then he'd feel like less of a monster invading a happy and calm little home.

* * *

A few days later, on his way back to Lecter's for his _appointments_, Will finds a stray dog standing on the edge of his property.

It's an ugly-looking thing, big too, with hanging teats of past pregnancies and a missing ear. The mutt's got cataracts, she's got scars all along her snout, and if Will wanted to he could count each and every rib but he doesn't. He ignores the dog completely, gets into his car and drives.

When he looks in the rearview mirror, she's still standing there. Her milky white eyes staring after him.

* * *

"Tell me about the first dog you ever had, Will."

Hannibal asks one afternoon, all the while sipping from a wine glass filled with blood. It’s a deep dark cherry red and it stains the sides of the glass each and every time Hannibal brings it up to his lips. 

There is an ache deep inside of Will’s gut, nausea forming knot of consternation grows inside of him with each and every sip that Lecter takes. 

“My first dog was a stray,” Will says, fidgeting with the tattered hem of his sweater. It’s been cold out lately, freezing even. Every news station says that snow could fall any day now and though Will no longer feels the cold, he still likes to pretend he does. _He does not think of the dog on his property, or of how cold it might be. Doesn't think about the empty beds he could give her now, or of how much space he has in his home for a dog._

“Well, not really. She _ had _ belonged to someone so I guess she wasn’t ever officially mine, to begin with...” 

Hannibal quirks an eyebrow before tilting his head back and downing the rest of his blood in a single gulp. For a brief moment, Will can see that Hannibal’s teeth are coated red. The man briefly drags his tongue over them, setting them back to their pearly and elongated whites. 

Hannibal sets the wine glass down onto the endtable beside him. There is a decent amount of blood left sitting inside the glass, collecting into a fine puddle. Will watches as the leftover traces of blood begins to settle, the knot in his stomach _ twisting. _

_ I'm not hungry, _ Will thinks, repeating it like a mantra in his head.

_ “Will.” _

Lecter’s voice breaks through his trance and Will’s eyes snap from the wine glass and back to Dr. Lecter’s face.

“How old were you?”

_ Right, _Will thinks. Back to the question at hand.

“Eight.”  
  
“Eight years old and already collecting strays,” Hannibal sighs in amusement. “You’re parents must have been thrilled."  
  
"They weren't. Well, dad wasn't. He had enough to worry about without me adding another mouth to feed."  
  
"And your mother?"  
  
Will rolls his eyes, "Absent."

"So this dog, what breed was she?"

"A hound...she was a beautiful dog, in a shitty trailer park with a shitty owner." Will bites his lip, suddenly remembering why he doesn't like to tell this story.

"This isn't actually all that great of a memory, Dr. Lecter."  
  
"If you're willing to tell it, I'm willing to hear it."  
  
Will sighs and rubs at an ache in his jaw, his mouth going dry.

"Her name was Pally. She belonged to this mean son of a bitch named Franklin. He beat his wife, he beat his dog. Kept her chained up outside all hours of the day...Hardly fed her."

Will can see Pally now, her short brown fur and her hanging jowls. He'd stop by and feed her pieces of jerky through the fence whenever Franklin wasn't around to shoo him off.

"One day...I was out in the woods, just _explorin'_ and I saw Pally there. She was out, or someone had let her out, who knows. She was running around, having a blast. Tasting freedom, you know? But she was also...she was covered in blood," Will laughs, though there's no humor in it.

"It was like her face had been dipped in paint but she didn't seem hurt. I figured she killed some forest animals. Caught a squirrel or something."  
  
Will lets his voice trail off, lost in thought. _Pally was always so hungry._

"What happened next, Will?"  
  
"I took her home. Dad was at work pretty much from sun up 'till sundown. I spent the day with her, gave her a bath. Made her a collar out of shoelaces. Fixed her dinner...yunno' kid shit."

"Anyways," Will sighs. "Dad came home and that was the end of that..."

"Was it?"  
  
"No...dad got the cops involved, called animal control and they put her down...Turns out Pally had gone feral, turned on Franklin and mauled him to death. She _ate_ him. Well, pieces of him anyway."  
  
Will's gaze finds its way back to the wine glass. He wonders how blood tastes, he suspects it tastes like sour pennies or nickels. But if you're hungry enough, Will thinks, hungry like Pally was, perhaps you could ignore the taste for long enough to swallow it all down.

"I'm sorry," Will says. "That wasn't a very nice story."

Hannibal quirks the corner of his lips, sharp teeth glinting momentarily.   
  
"On the contrary, I found it quite riveting."

"Yeah, sure." Will scoffs.  
  
"Truly."

"Yeah well, that's cus you're weird."

"Weirdness is often a defining trait to the heroes of our history."

"It's a trait for just plain weirdos, too."

Hannibal smiles at him, a subtle lift to the corners of his mouth.

"Our session is up, Will. I will see you next week."  
  
"See you next week," Will agrees.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Once again Will finds himself face-to-face with Dr. Lecter, except this time there is something different about the man. His features are sharper and his eyes are glowing like a predator or, Will supposes, like a hound dogs' eyes reflecting the moonlight. _

_ Not a fan of eye-contact anyway, Will keeps his gaze cast downward and chooses to find patterns on the carpet beneath his feet instead. He does that for a while, dimly aware of the other mans' attempt to engage him in conversation, and lets his eyes raise no higher than the paisley tie at the base of Hannibal's neck. _

_ Dr. Lecter is speaking to him and Will knows that the man is speaking to him but for some reason, all he hears is a dull roar. The man calls his name, again and again. _

_ Will, Will, Will, and Will drags his gaze back down to the rug on the floor. _

_ For a moment, he is terrified to see faces in the carpet, gaping up at him in horror. _

_ Will abruptly stands, practically jumping out of his seat and surveys the foyer, gaze roaming the perimeter of Dr. Lecter's lounge, the wallpapers, the ceiling, anywhere but Dr. Lecter. _

_ The walls feel taller, and the bookshelves seem as though they are closing in on him. Sweat begins to bead at the base of Will's neck and there is a dryness in his throat that sends him into a coughing fit. _

_ Hannibal is saying something. Will thinks the man is offering him a drink of what would no doubt be blood and Will says no, no thanks, but it comes out more guttural, like a growl. _

_ Will's not sure he's making sense anymore, can hardly string a sentence together when he finds himself at Dr. Lecter's desk, gazing down at the stag figure there. _

_ Will spies movement from the corner of his eye but when he turns to look at Lecter, all he sees is the man still seated in his chair, unmoving like a statue. _

_ Will turns his gaze back to the stag and finds that it too, looks different somehow. Its antlers flare out into sharp, needle-like, points that seem to grow sharper and sharper the more he stares at it. Dread begins to sprout inside of him and reaching out as if in a trance, the antler points arch up as if to meet him, and pierced through his hand. _

_ "Are you alright, Will"? Dr. Lecter asks, suddenly at his side. _

_ Flinching back with a hiss, Will lets out a curse and stumbles away from him _

_ “I-I’m fuh-fi-fine,” Will stutters out, voice shaking. _

_ He doesn’t realize that he’s backed himself into a corner until he feels the edge of a bookshelf's ladder poking into his side. _

_ “You’re bleeding.” _

_ “W-wh-hat?” _

_ Looking down at his hand Will sees blood as it drips from his fingertips. _

_ “Hannibal, I-” he chokes on his own words as bile begins to rise in his throat. _

_ He takes a few steps forward and nearly slips on his ass in what he realizes is an ever-growing puddle of blood beginning to form at his feet. _

_ Will begins to hyperventilate as the form of Winston, his dog, begins to manifest in the pool of blood. _

_ He lifts his head and tilts it at Will as if in question. _

_ “Are you hungry, Will?” a deep baritone voice asks from Winston's snout. _

* * *

Chased from his sleep by the devil of his nightmares, Will jerks himself awake on the bench outside of his front porch.

Covered in snow and with the taste of blood in his mouth, Will stands on shaky legs and brushes the light dusting of last night's snowfall from himself. It’s the third time this week that he’s woken up like that; panic-stricken and with his fangs protruding. 

Unclenching his jaw, Will brings his hands up to his face and delicately pulls his lips back and away from where his fangs have begun to embed themselves. Licking his lips he can taste the sour tang of his blood and realizes with a grimace, just how awful dead blood tastes.

Shaking those thoughts from his head, Will pulls his phone out and frowns at the three missed calls from Alana and two from Jack Crawford. It can't mean anything good, Will's sure about that. He's just about to dial them back when the sound of a bark catches him off guard.

He thinks for a moment that it's one of his dogs chasing him from his nightmare before he spies the awkward gait of the sickly stray he had seen last week, running into the woods as a car fast approaches. 

With a groan, Will realizes that it's _ Jack’s _car which definitely can't mean anything good.

* * *

_ Jack’s need for Will ultimately outweighs his concerns for him. _

_ Three missing girls with bodies stacked on antlers and no culprit! The press (and by ‘press’ Jack means Freddie Lounds,) is having a field day with him. Chewing him up and spitting him out, painting him as some sort of incompetent buffoon to the masses...Jack tells himself that there is no other choice but to include Will. The body count keeps rising and there are grieving parents he needs to bring justice to. There are lives on the line, and they all outweigh Will Graham's need for rest and healing. _

_ Of course he has to bring Will into it, of course he does! there's no one else like him! No one who could do as good of a job at hunting monsters as Will himself. _

_ Can you blame him? When lives are on the line? _

* * *

"You getting dogs again?" Is the first thing out of Jack's mouth. He's standing before Will, gloved hands out on display as if to show Will that he's empty-handed.

There's no doubt in Will's mind that inside Jack's car is a casefile with his name on it.

"No."

"Really? Thought I saw a dog when I was drivin' in."

"That's just a stray."

"I thought all your dogs were strays?”

"Yeah, well this one’s gonna stay a stray."

"Okay, okay," Jack says, holding his hands out. "I just think it'd be good for you if you got a dog-"

"What do you want, Jack?"

"Can't I just stop by and visit? See how an old friend is doing?"

"You _ can _ but you don't, and if you wanted to see how I was doing you could've checked in way before now." Will snaps.

"That's fair," Jack sighs, resigned. "I guess I deserve that."

Will shrugs and sits back down on his bench.

"What are you here for Jack? Another body? Another case unsolved?"

"Can we go inside first? It's cold as hell out here."

Will has no idea how to tell the man that even _ he _ hasn’t stepped foot inside his home since the incident. He can hardly stomach the thought of it, It all just feels so wrong, like he’s a trespasser on his own damn property, invading the space that _ alive _Will Graham inhabited. 

"No." Wills says, “you can’t come in.”

"What? I'm not allowed inside?" Jack says with a laugh.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Will says. 

Will can see the exact moment Jack puts two and two together. He readies himself for the blast.

"What the hell is this? I thought Lecter was supposed to be helping you? Alana said she had this covered!” Jack shouts, dropping his cool and calm persona for the irate and hot-tempered Jack Crawford that Will knows.

“Have you been inside your house since? Have you even eaten?”

“I’m not hungry, Jack.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Jack snaps. “You look like a fucking ghost.”

“That’s because I am-“

“Maybe Alana was right,” Jack continues. “Maybe this is a mistake, involving you!”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before!” Will shouts back at him, standing toe-to-toe with the man.

“Before you had a beating heart and blood in your veins!” Jack shouts. “I knew you’d recover then! I knew how far I could push you! and now...”

“Now what?” Will seethes, “You don’t know how hard you can beat your racehorse anymore?”

“I didn’t say that.” Jack sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t...look, Will, I owe you an apology, more so than anymore.”

“Don’t-“

Jack holds his hand up as if to silence him but Will continues.

“I’m sick of everyone apologizing to me. I’m sick of the pity and the sad glances.” Will spits out. 

“I don’t need your apology, Jack. I need you to stop beating around the bush and just tell me what you need from me.”

With a sigh, Jack takes a gloved hand off and rubs at his face. “I didn’t come here for a fight, Will.”

“No, you came here for a case.”

“Minnesota Shrike,” Jack says, curt with a nod. “It’ll be a long drive but I need you there. _ Tonight _.”

“You got the case file in the car?”

Jack gives him a somber look and nods.

“Great. You can fill me in on the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late update! I really struggled with this chapter and rewrote the dialogue between Jack and Will SO many times.


	4. Chapter 4

He should’ve known, really, that Garrett Jacob Hobbes was a vampire.

Garrett’s got Abigail by the throat, a silver blade tucked up against her carotid artery. Will’s got his gun trained on him. Before going into this, he had been warned to stand down, negotiate first, as if Will couldn't tell how this was all going to end by the nature of the man's crime scenes alone. Hobbes is not the type to stand down and risk losing contact with his daughter. Will knows exactly what Hobbes is planning to do from the very moment he first steps foot inside the kitchen, and the knife he has against his daughter's throat has absolutely nothing to do with it all.

Garrett lets the knife drop and unsheaths his fangs. It’s almost like time slows down for Will. the hair on the back of his neck stands up and his fangs slide down to match Garrett’s.

The man rears his head back, his jaw unhinges like a snakes' as he leans down to take a chunk out of Abigail’s neck. His teeth sink in and Garrett moans at the taste of it. He can’t help himself, she's the forbidden fruit he’s been _dying _to taste, ever since the day she first came into this world.

Will pulls the trigger of his gun. The bullet cuts through the air slowly, like it's swimming through honey. Garret rears his head back for another bite and suddenly Will finds himself at Garret's side, tearing into his throat with the brunt of his fangs.

Abigail falls to the ground in a spray of blood. Garret Jacob Hobbes jerks and screams beneath Will, tearing at him with elongated and blackened fingernails, his jaw dangling uselessly as he screams.

The bullet from Will's gun flies over them and embeds itself into the kitchen cupboards just above Will's head.

He keeps biting, long after Garret Jacob Hobbes has gone limp. He spits the blood out, blackened like tar, and runs back to Abigail. She whimpers as he reaches out for her, her mouth dangling open in a soundless scream. Will can see the muscle and tendons of her neck twitch and contract in the bloody maw left over from her father's first bite.

Then, Hannibal stands over him. He takes Will's hands in his and presses it harshly against the hole in Abigail’s neck.

“Do you see?” Hannibal asks him. “You must keep the pressure on it, Will.” 

His eyes are red. He looks pristine with not a hair out of place while Will looks disheveled, shivering and shaking, hyperventilating for breath that he no longer needs. There is blood on his face, blood on his hands, blood in his _ mouth. _

“S-shh-she’s uh- g-going to die,” Will stutters out. 

It’s so obvious that really, there was no need for him to say it. Her imminent death is clear to all three of them, yet he feels the need to state it again, slowly and with eye-contact, something he knows Hannibal is dearly fond of. “S-she’s going to _ die.” _

“Would you like me to save her?” Hannibal asks with his voice deep and deadly calm. 

Abigail twitches and shudders beneath his hands, her eyes are turning grey. 

“_Tick tock,_ _ Will. She doesn’t have much time,”_ Garret Jacob Hobbes whispers into the shell of his ear.

Will can feel him as he slides up against his back, leaning over his shoulder in an attempt to get a better look at his daughter. He knows that if he were to turn around, Garrett's body would still be left slumped over by the kitchen sinks. 

“Yes,” Will answers, his voice shaking and soft.

“Say it clearly, Will. Say it strong. There’s no going back from this.” 

Hannibal presses Will’s hands harder against Abigail's throat. So hard that his fingers start to dig into the exposed meat there, pressing into her like pudding. Will heaves.

Garret Jacob Hobbes slides his hands forward and cups the sides of Will’s face. “Do you see?” He asks, breath hot against the shell of his ear. “Do you see?”

“Yes.” Will gasps, though he’s not exactly sure who he’s answering.

Hannibal smiles at Will, too many teeth. Panic surges through him. _ What am I doing? What am I doing? _

“Wait-“

But Hannibal brings his wrist up and bites down into his flesh, tearing through skin and vein and tendon, all the way down to the slender bones of his wrist.

Will’s stomach clenches on nothing.

He would vomit if he could.

Hannibal brings his wrist down to Abigail’s mouth and Will thinks she’s too far gone when suddenly she latches on and _ drinks _. The blue of her eyes comes back first, the skin around her neck begins to stitch itself together, cell by cell, until the gaping maw of her throat is marred only by the puncture wounds of Garrett Jacob Hobbes teeth.

“Now you see,” Garrett says.

But when Will looks around, he sees nothing. 

Nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jumping straight into the Hobbes scene and sorry for the late update! The original plan was for this fic to be 4 chapters in length but there's still more to tell so I'm upping it to 6 chapters for now!


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